Necessity
by Valerie Phoenixfire
Summary: An autopilot's final thoughts in a doomed ship. One shot. Sequal of sorts to "Water Lilies" with my OC, Echo.


Necessity

Control panels were interesting things, the blue-eyed autopilot concluded. They were already brilliant with multiple hues surrounding various interactive touch pads and buttons, but she noted that they burst into an even greater myriad of colors when things malfunctioned. The contrast was startling.

Malfunction. The word was certainly lodged deeply within Echo's databanks. She rarely experienced its manifestations before; autopilots were exceedingly good at keeping control of things, even on small Reconnaissance and Retrieval ships where no other robots were available. Yet, as Echo swiveled around in place to scan the RAR's small bridge, the shrieking of those gleaming control panels forced her to submit yet again to the notion that nothing was going smoothly. Nothing was improving.

She wished she could turn her auditory sensors off, but programming prevented it. The sirens... they were just so _loud._ Left engine out. Nose pitch critical. Et cetera. Echo's processor strips wrapped around all the incoming information as they had done for hours now, but the pilot could do nothing but listen. She admitted it to herself, to her programming, and to the ship; her ship, her lifeforce. The main systems were deteriorating swiftly, and she had lost all control of them. A glance out the window. RAR number 477 was careening through space, hurtling towards points of light in the vast blanket of a nebula.

Like so many times before during these precious hours, Echo stabbed the navigation panel to life and with the dexterity and efficiency only her kind can give, pulled the thrust lever to attempt a lowering of speed. Like so many times before, nothing. Spokes jutted out in false surprise as her processor strips whirled faster, her optic fiercely dimming. With strained effort, she called to no one.

_**Why?**_

No one from BnL to consult. All communications were impossible. Oh, how she tried. A strange flash of heat pierced the wheel's circuitry as realized that the only thing she could do was steer, and even that task was difficult. Yet, there was nowhere to steer.

_Keep calm, autopilot._ Her systems told her that repeatedly, and true to her name, they pulsed through her and reminded her of her position. _Keep calm; keep trying._

But Echo tried.

Perhaps if she still had her shocker, she could short-circuit something. Perhaps.

Echo rolled to the other side of the bridge and called up the captain's cabin camera. The screen flickered before forming a clear image; yes, he was still dead, she noted. A processor strip slid to one side, glimmering with reds and greens. She had never quite understood the human concept of intoxication despite Captain Blake's constant talk of it. Echo was satisfied with calculating that being lost in space caused him to drink himself to death. The processor strip slid to the other side, and she returned to her position at the front of the bridge.

She was alone with her ship now. Her dying ship, ravaged by Echo's own injuries. As she once more tried to calm the screech of the engine temperature panels, the autopilot ruminated. _Captain Blake did this to me._ Programming was her true master, however, and so she was unable to convince herself that he was mistaken in hurting her. The autopilot must always listen to its captain.

Her wheel rotated and she lightly poked a panel that was intended to direct coolant into the engines. No success.

Blake's strength was overpowering, and every time he abused his own navigator, Echo decided upon it being her fault. There was no other option. Anytime doubt crossed her mind, other mechanical synapses cancelled it out. _Not possible._ She had to listen, she had to be doing something wrong every time...

Her faceplate shakily split a few inches apart and she let herself scan a panel on the wall.

But... if only he didn't let so much damage come to the ship. Echo needed to be functional in order for the ship to maintain its speed, course, and everything else. Without the ship properly running, they couldn't complete their mission. If they couldn't complete the mission, then Echo could not adhere to her directive, and what a failure of a robot she was, then. She chirped in mild frustration, ripping the panel open with her claw and examining the contents. Nothing useful.

One more glance out the window, her icy optic churning with heat. The nebula that she had been tracking for so long was directly ahead, glittering with reds and yellows and peppered with a swarm of comets.

A glance to the control panels. They were still calling out to her, flickering in agony, desperate for her to fix everything. Echo chirped softly. She couldn't, she simply couldn't.

The navigation charts proclaimed that the course was off by a deafening seventeen degrees. Even if Echo steered the ship back on course, the next waypoint was impossible to punch into the plan. The pilot stared grimly at the pixelated stars on the chart. She finally listened to her own servos: with the navigation system mostly down, she was lost, and hopelessly so.

With every second, she scanned something else. Hyperjump; inactive. Navigation; corrupted. Ship speed; constant and impossible to alter. For just once in her short state of existence, Echo was at a complete loss. At least with Captain Blake, she had a commanding figure to whom she was loyal.

A glance to the window revealed a small fleet of comets not too far off, especially at the rate the ship was travelling. Echo quietly shut her faceplate, her processor strips slowing. For just a moment, everything calmed within her mind as she calculated her next action. The cerulean optic peeked at the floor, which was embossed with "RAR" directly in the center.

She turned to the window and eyed a particularly large comet, barrelling somewhat slower than the others and yet still gleaming proudly with its prisms of ice.

_**Directive failed.**_

No one listened but herself. She rotated her wheel to the right, letting the ship gently target the comet. The autopilot ceased her speech; who was there to hear her but her ship. Instead, she let herself think. _This is out of necessity._

Time stopped for her, and she relished in it.

In an instant, the comet blazed brighter as it was partly coated in flames. As its long-time observer became part of its colors, the nebula shimmered just that much more.


End file.
